


Apple Thief

by SapphyreLily



Series: KuroYaku Weekend 2017 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, KuroYakuWeekend2017, M/M, POV First Person, POV Second Person, Soulmate AU, medieval era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 22:04:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11792394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: KuroYaku Weekend Day 2 - Chance & CircumstanceYou will always argue over the factors that enabled the two of you to meet.





	Apple Thief

**Author's Note:**

> Lmao I'm so late and also I think it's OOC I'm so sorry

You know all about it. The probability of meeting someone, whose heart would be attuned to yours, whose soul mirrors and complements yours. The probability of meeting someone who would be your best friend, perhaps lover, someone who was made to be your other half.

You know the probability; the chances aren’t high. In fact, they’re improbably low.

How could you find your soulmate, when the world had so many people in it?

\-----

I believe in circumstance. In reality, in what’s in front of you. I don’t take stock in daydreams or fancies, because dreaming never leads you anywhere productive – it can only lead you to ruin.

Circumstance, I feel, can be wavered. Changed a little, depending on the events leading up to it. But it is still fairly set in stone. It has been planned for.

You can’t go wrong, if you believe in a solid plan of action, and execute it well.

Hmm? Meeting your soulmate?

Bah. It would never happen.

Believing in soulmates is like believing you can strike the lottery. Like believing in love at first sight. Like believing that you can accomplish something despite never having tried it before.

Perhaps the last is a little far-fetched.

But my point stands – you can’t trust chance. You can only trust in something more tangible.

\-----

You hear all the talk in the castle, all the good and the bad. Being a servant is good for one thing, even if that thing is eavesdropping.

Then again, there is no good servant who doesn’t know how to eavesdrop. Gossip is the currency of the lower-born, after all.

Kitchen duty is your favourite, mostly because you can swipe a taste of the meals of the nobility, maybe an extra bread roll or apple. A bit of butter, if the cooks are _really_ busy, maybe a boiled egg for partaking in later.

The cooks probably know, but no one has said anything.

Kitchen duty is also your favourite because you get to be sent to the dining hall as a serving boy, and everyone knows that meal times are the second richest in gossip. (The richest would be the private tea times taken behind closed doors, but you haven’t found the secret passages to those rooms yet.)

It allows you to hang back at the walls, catching snippets of conversation when you move forward to fill a glass or replace a dish.

And oh! The _things_ you hear. They’re wonderfully scandalous.

The Duke of so-and-so has been seen with a servant girl, no, his wife’s lady-in-waiting! And wait, there’s more! They were sporting patches of colour on their skin, a handprint here, the outline of lips there.

Soulmates? Surely not, for how can one born to riches be bound to someone of the dirt?

Yet it is true, or so the ladies swear.

You are extremely amused by this talk, even if you despise the way they talk about the lower-born. As if being born into a family where you have little immediately desecrates your worth.

But it makes for great afternoon amusements, and with the information you have, perhaps you can barter for a little something: a favour, a bite of food, perhaps an hour off from your usual duties.

You like to think that it is chance that you stumble upon such gems, such bits of gossip privy only to the finely powdered ears of the nobility. No other servant you know is as rich as you when it comes to gleaning information, nor as shrewd or conniving. Everyone else has been caught at least once, but not you. Never you.

It’s enough to make your head swell with delusions of grandeur, but you know better.

It’s all just an illusion, a game you play to distract yourself from real concerns.

\-----

I am content with what I have. I have a stable job, enough to eat, a place to sleep.

It’s enough.

Of course, it’s all been handed down to me, as my father did, and his father before him. We are stablehands, who keep watch over the king’s mounts, who treat them and care for them as we would our own children.

After all, each of these horses are worth more than my entire life’s wages.

It’s no easy life, but it is satisfying work, and that’s all that matters. Day in and out, completing the same routine.

It is good if the schedule is not messed up. It is good if the horses remain sound, in good shape and ready to go, should a messenger require them, should the king want them. It is well as it is, and I would greatly prefer that it stay this way.

\-----

You are in the kitchens again, wheedling an apple from one of the cooks. Different day, same circumstance, and it’s a wonder that no one has kicked you out yet.

“Alright, out with ya.” The head cook bustles over and knocks your hand away from the food with her spoon. “Ya can only ‘ave one if ya do a favour, got it?”

You nod enthusiastically. Her ‘favours’ are never too big.

“Tha’ basket’s for the ‘orses. Them’s the good ones, an’ His Majesty wants ‘em fed first, so no pinching.” She glares to make her point, and you grin. The lady knows you too well.

“If yer good, the stablehand might give ya one. ‘e’s a good lad, I ‘eard.” She waves you off, turning back to the pot, and you know you’ve been dismissed.

You shrug and pick up the basket, grunting under its weight, easy smile falling when your back is turned.

You hate the stables, but no one needs to know that.

You’re only in it for the apples.

\-----

There’s a great scraping and huffing coming from the entrance of the stable, and the horse I’m currying sticks his nose over the door to investigate. I finish brushing the last swirl on his flank and walk over to open the door, pushing him back when he wants to get out.

Oh. Apples. That explains his curiosity.

I wait for the boy to put his basket down, his face almost as red as the fruit he carries. His hair is an absolute _mess_ , though how exactly it got that way from carrying a basket across the grounds, I cannot tell.

“Those for the horses?” I nod towards the basket, and in between wheezes, he nods.

“Put them over there, by that door. I’ll come along in a minute.”

He looks a little put out by my response, but I ignore it. If he’s hoping to filch one of the fruits, he can wait till he proves himself. I know the cook always leaves a few extra in there.

I push back into the stall and finish grooming the horse, cleaning his hooves out before I pack up the kit and step out. The boy is sitting by the door, polishing an apple with his tunic, and from the way his pocket sports an odd bulge, I know he has already taken a few of the fruit.

“Hey,” I call, and he looks up with a crooked grin. He has the nerve to tuck the apple into his other pocket, and his smirk tells me that he doesn’t care what I think.

I sigh. “I’m going to open the door, and you can put the basket inside. You can stay and help me cut them up for the horses, or you can go. I know you’ve taken some.”

“Who, me?” The boy places a hand over his heart with a gasp. “What false accusations!”

“Then do me a favour and remove yourself.” I leave the grooming kit on the floor as I unlock the door, turning to drag the apples inside by myself.

By the time I get the basket in and go back out for the grooming kit, the boy is gone.

_Good riddance._

\-----

You sneak back in through the kitchens after washing your face in the barrel outside. The stables are as disgusting as ever, and that you were dismissed as quickly as that is a miracle.

“Oi, lad! Come ‘ere and share yer bounty with us, I see yer pockets are full.”

…trust the cook to not miss anything. You can’t even run off, what with the entire kitchen staring at you. You walk over to her reluctantly, trying to ignore her huge grin.

“I take it the stablehand took a liking to ya. Nobody gets away with tha’ many on their first try.”

The stares make the back of your neck burn, and you croak out an unintelligible reply.

She doesn’t seem to notice, and slaps you heartily on the back. “Well then! Next week ya can take ‘em to the stables agin. It’ll be good work for ya, yer too skinny.”

You think you splutter a protest, but she’s having none of it, and the weight of _expectations_ makes your head bow in reluctant acceptance.

\-----

I hear the same scraping as the previous week, and a quick peek out of the stall shows the same servant boy with the apples.

Odd. The cook hardly sends the same one twice in a row.

“Hey, mister. Same place as last time?”

Gah. He’s looking over the stall door.

“Yes. Try not to take so many apples this time. We almost ran out last week.”

He tips an imaginary cap to me and shuffles off without another word. I raise my eyebrows, exchanging a look with the horse, but she’s not even looking at me. I huff and turn back to brushing out her mane.

If the boy wants to take the apples and not make conversation, that’s fine by me. As long as he’s polite and does his job well, I don’t particularly care.

\-----

The stablehand seemed nicer, you think. You have no problem complying with his request, because you don’t _actually_ need so many apples, but it was interesting to try and fool him.

In fact, he seems to be a fairly decent person, and you might make an effort to befriend him, smelly stables or no. You’ve never had a source inside the stables before, as far removed from the castle as it is. This might be an endeavour worth the risk.

If you manage to achieve all this… Well. Perhaps being a delivery boy wouldn’t be quite so bad, after all.

\-----

It’s been several months now, and the routine hasn’t changed.

“Yakkun! Didja miss me?”

I sigh and place a hand on the horse’s flank, but she doesn’t startle. Even the horses are used to the scrape of the apple basket, and Kuroo’s loud voice following it.

“Not if you keep causing a ruckus like that.” I prop my arms over the stall door, pushing myself up so I can glare at him. “How many times have I told you not to yell in the stables?”

“Eh.” Kuroo waves a hand dismissively after setting the basket down. “I’m your favourite person, you don’t mind.”

“If you bother the horses, _I definitely mind.”_

“Touchy, touchy.” Kuroo pulls the door open, dragging the basket in. “I’ll start cutting them first.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Funny, how in the span of a few months, I didn’t just get a permanent apple delivery boy, but also a friend. He was really annoying at first, but now, he’s at least halfway decent.

I wash my hands before I step up to the cutting board next to him, a knife already ready for me to use. We cut in silence until the bucket is full, then Kuroo washes up while I take the apples to the horses.

“You comin’ along today?”

An old question, a worn routine.

“Maybe. I could meet you at the end of the row.”

“Hmm.”

Half an agreement, but Kuroo never joins me to feed them. Maybe he’s afraid of the beasts, maybe he doesn’t like the place, I’ll never know. But it’s not my place to ask, so I don’t, leaving the room instead.

\-----

You hate the stables, but your new friend loves them. No matter how many times you come to this dreaded place, you can never bring yourself to like it, nor can you stay in it for long.

But today is a special occasion, a rumour you heard by chance, and you’re willing to stay behind a little longer, just for this.

The end of the row can be accessed from around the building, so you take the long way. It gives you a chance to check that your gift is properly wrapped, to make sure that your effort didn’t go to waste.

You reach the other entrance of the stables all too quickly, and you can see your friend’s figure quickly approaching.

You take a deep breath. You can be tolerant, if only for a few minutes.

You step forward, and hurry towards him.

\-----

A hand dips into my bucket, snatching a piece of apple, and I stare in equal parts surprise and shock to see Kuroo there. He offers the treat to the stallion, flat on his palm, and the sight stuns me further.

I’ve never seen him in the stables, but he knows how to feed a horse?

“What are you doing here?”

“Feeding the horses with you,” he replies easily, and picks up another slice. “How many can they have?”

“Two,” I say, still a little dumbstruck at his presence.

“Close your mouth, you’re catching flies.”

I shut my mouth and hit him with the bucket. His wince makes the earlier shock worth it.

“Okay, but really, what are you doing here?” I hold a piece of apple out to the next horse, glancing at him. “You never come with me.”

“Am I banned from coming with you?”

“No, just– You’ve never come before, why now?”

“Maybe I’m just this nice.”

“That’s horseshit.”

“The one time I tell the truth, and you don’t believe me.” Kuroo sniffs, but it’s faker than the heavily made up faces of nobility.

“You don’t get to bust in here after half a year of refusing with no good reason, friend or no.”

Kuroo gasps. “Why, Yakkun, are you admitting we are _friends_?”

“Please die.”

“No, no way. The aloof stablehand admits to friendship! Man, I could get Alisa to polish the silver for me for _weeks._ ” Kuroo laces his hands behind his head, walking backwards to the next stall. I scowl at his nonchalance as I follow.

“Do whatever you want, but out of my stable if you’re only here to make trouble.”

“Ye of little faith.” He shakes his head and picks a slice for the last stallion. “I come with only the purest of intentions.”

“Whatever those might be.”

“As I said: little faith.” Kuroo dusts his hands off and walks to the rain barrel to wash them. I roll my eyes at him as I give the stallion a scratch on his neck, taking my time to follow.

It surprises me again when Kuroo decides to walk back to the feed room with me, and with the way he was whistling, you’d think he was completely unaffected. But I can see the tiny crease in the bridge of his nose, the narrowing of his eyes, and I know that he isn’t as pleased as he makes out to be.

“Alright, out with it. Why are you still here and why are you acting so happy?”

Kuroo side-eyes me and I frown. He smirks just a little before relenting, “So a little birdie told me something.”

“Mmhmm?”

“A little kitty, but you know, _details_ –”

“Spit it out, Kuroo.”

He stops walking, and I do too. I can see the horses next to us putting their heads over the doors, stretching their necks out in hopes of more apple, but I try to ignore them.

Kuroo’s neck is turning a mottled red, and he reaches into his tunic, pulling out a small package. “Happy birthday. It’s a bit squashed, but it’s the best I could barter from the cooks.”

I take it gingerly, unwrapping the brown paper. Three slices of cake, rich golden brown and oozing with honey.

I pry my gaze from the gift, gaping at him. “How…?”

“You’re welcome,” he tells me, then grabs my shoulders and turns me towards the feed room. “Eat those somewhere the horses can’t get them, yeah?”

“I– Just– Honey cakes?” My voice is too high, bordering on hysteria.

“You're only twenty once, right?”

“But _honey cakes_? Kuroo, that’s a bit much, even for you–”

“It’s your birthday. Just shut up and eat.” He pushes us inside the feed room, unhooking the bucket from over my arm. His fingers brush my arm, and the weirdest tingle spreads up from the spot. I rub at the spot absently, still staring at the cake.

“Yakkun. I’m gonna eat those for you if you don’t.”

“Oh, no, you’re not.” I twist away from him immediately, lifting a slice to my mouth. A single bite is like an explosion of flavour in my mouth: rich and sweet and sticky, all too delicious.

I can feel Kuroo watching me, and turn back to glare. “Stop staring.”

“You look like a mouse like that,” he says, and puffs out his cheeks. “Fat and fluffy.”

“Stop looking at me then.”

“I never said there was anything wrong with fat and fluffy.”

“Stop watching me eat.”

“I do what I like.” Kuroo crosses his arms, and I notice something odd.

“You’ve got flour on your fingers.”

“Huh?” Kuroo looks at his hands, blinking in surprise and wiping his fingers on his trousers. “Hey, it won’t come off.”

“When did you touch flour? That wasn't there earlier.” I wrap up the remaining slices and tuck them away, looking for a wet cloth for him to clean his hands with.

“No idea. There wasn’t anything when we came in either.”

“Huh. That’s weird.”

“Hey, you’ve got something on you too.”

“What?”

“C’mere.” Kuroo waves me over, catching my wrist and prodding at a bright red patch on my arm. “This thing.”

There’s that weird tingle again, and as I watch, tendrils of red creep out from under where Kuroo’s hand presses to my skin. “Uh. Kuroo.”

“What?”

It’s a split second before he notices, and then he drops my arm, as if burned, turning up his palms to stare at them.

Where a giant red handprint is printed onto my wrist, his palm is stark white, as if he dipped it in flour.

I reach out tentatively, and when he doesn’t move, I press a few fingers to his wrist. We both watch as the tingly feeling gives way to white blotches spreading across his skin, red crawling up my fingers.

Well. How’s _that_ for a surprise.

“Uh. You can take your hand off me now…?”

I snatch my hand back, and neither of us make eye contact, looking elsewhere, anywhere but at the other.

“So, uh,” I cough lightly. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

“…Yaku, that’s literally the _stupidest thing_ I’ve ever heard you say.”

“What do you want me to say?!”

“I don’t know!” Kuroo throws his hands up in the air. “This is awkward!”

“Glad to know you feel the same!” I fold my arms and glare at him. “I never thought I’d ever meet my soulmate, and now it turns out it’s just you.”

“’Just me’? I would inform you that I am a great catch, and everybody in the castle is after me–”

“No, they’re not. Stop lying to yourself.”

“At least I try.”

“Eww. No thanks.”

“I could say the same.”

Another awkward pause.

“Uh. So.”

“I should get going, maybe?”

We speak at the same time, and the semblance of normalcy it brings almost makes me laugh.

“Yeah. Go. I’ll see you next week, I guess?”

“Yeah. The head cook refuses to let anyone else bring the apples at this point.”

“I wonder why.”

“It makes less apples disappear during the rest of the week, but you didn’t hear that from me.” Kuroo winks, and I roll my eyes with a smile.

“Goodbye. Thanks again for the cake.”

“Ah, yeah. No problem.”

\-----

You believe in chance, because chance is the only reason why you could have ever found your soulmate, irritating though he is.

(You have grown fond of him, but he need not know that.)

It was chance that made the cook send you with the apples. Chance that you kept going, chance that you touched his skin by accident, and discovered that you can paint each other in opposing colours.

You’ve always been lucky, but that was a chance you didn’t know you needed.

\-----

I know what Kuroo says. _Chance this_ and _chance that_.

Rubbish.

It was circumstance that brought us together. If we had never been in the same castle to begin with, if the cook hadn’t needed someone to bring the apples to me, if Kuroo hadn’t stayed to give me the cake…

But ifs are intangible, and those events have already happened.

And maybe we’ll argue forever on the logistics of how we finally discovered that we are soulmates, but it’s something that I don’t really mind.

After all, we’ve found each other now, and forever is just a milestone.


End file.
